Little Timmy’s Plastic Doll

Once upon a time, there was a naughty little boy named Timmy. Timmy was Webster’s own definition of a brat – spoiled without a trace of gratefulness in his demeanor, and a hateful bully to his parents at that. Finally, little Timmy pulled the last ma ‘n’ pa hamstring, and hit his father over the head with a plastic doll, bruising him. That was it – violent little Timmy was going to juvy, after countless beatings and bruises liberally administered by him. Or was he? Perhaps not, for you can imagine little Timmy’s parents’ confusion when the friendly neighborhood police handcuffed not the rugrat, but the plastic doll instead.

No doubt they attempted to convince Timmy’s discombobulated guardians that the plastic toy was the culprit. “Mr. and Mrs. Finnigan, we promise that we will do everything in our power to stop these horrible objects which no doubt caused the violence.” And so it was said, and the police raided the culprit’s headquarters, their main place of planning and operation tactical craftsmanship – the Hoppe Toy Company offices in Irvine, California.

Celebrations soon came about – people calling themselves “progressive” rejoiced as laws were made by the grand state to restrict all plastic toys “for the safety of our children,” and “for the sake of the holy collective.”

“Shame on us!” cried the leader of the progressive peoples. “We have taken so long to come to this simple, common sense conclusion.” Cheers erupted from the crowd, with chubby bearded guys with baseball caps eagerly repeating the same thing in a graphically uncomfortable display of enthusiasm. “How many head-boppings has it taken to reach this conclusion!? Today my friends, that number will halt, and be no more!”

The audience no doubt exploded with even more jovial enthusiasm.

And all was well.

Note: Whoops! It appears as though some didn’t know this was a satire and then later realized it was a lampooning of them. Apologies in order!